


Fighting to Lose

by Andrew (Skomie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skomie/pseuds/Andrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 9, Castiel isn't forced to leave the bunker. But that doesn't mean he stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He leaves.

He falls first. Then he walks, he eats, he bathes, and breathes. He uses a spare pink toothbrush that came in a 4-pack and sits it in a cup, cuddled up with Dean's blue and Sam's yellow and Kevin's green one that no one is willing to throw away. He wears only Dean's clothes because Sam's are too ridiculous and he sleeps, but badly. He clutches his coffee cup every morning like it's either keeping him afloat or he's losing the fight not to chuck it against the wall for the sake of hearing ceramic smash. He smiles like it itches and one moment everything will be a hiccup away from normal but the next it's like a silent earthquake smashing everything inside of him. Dean tries to catch his eyes constantly and normally fails. Success lands him with a weight of emotion Dean can't begin to sort through. Cas is dealing and it's heartbreaking to watch.

Then he leaves. And that's worse.

Sam does his best to be supportive while begging him to stay. Dean simply tucks his favorite shirt in with the rest of the donated clothes and refuses to call them anything but borrowed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is in love with Castiel and it might matter if it wasn't mostly over before the thought started.

It wouldn't matter at all if it weren't everywhere. It'd be over if it wasn't lingering in everything. If he weren't. So that's what Dean decides to rectify. It's an easier fix than fixing Dean himself.

He insists on hitting the road, hunting for a hunt, to get away from a home Cas breathed in. They steal a car, a boring '90-something Civic, that the angel's never touched. He drives to a state they've never shared before. He cuts himself off from coffee cold turkey and bares through the headache. When he tears a hole in the knee of one of his only pairs of jeans he cashes in on the shopping trip and nearly maxes a burner card with clothes until the better part of his wardrobe are items Cas has never seen. When their toothbrushes finally wear out he grabs a 2-pack, Sam's a creature of habit and takes the yellow one. Dean's new orange one keeps it company. He makes Sam do the lion's share of the driving since Cas can't. He let's Sam pick the music so he doesn't have to explain why he won't put on his usual fare which happens to be the only music he's 100% certain Cas has ever listened to. He doesn't pray, he hasn't had a cheeseburger in 3 months, and he tossed out those one pair of unbelievably comfortable socks that were the most unfortunate shade of blue.

None of it's helping. Because Cas is in more than can be fit into a dumpster. He's in the crack of fire, on the edge of Dean's blade and in the sound of rushing air. He's on every park bench they drive by and in every loop Dean makes with a tie. He's every freckle he repainted on Dean's own face. Every almost sentence on the tip of Sam's tongue is about him, buried in the worry lines on his brother's forehead. The, 'I miss him too,' Sam doesn't say is loud and clear in every conversation. It's a losing battle that Dean's trying to run from and fight at the same time.

And what's worse? He's not sure he wants to win.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  

Sam is a lot of things besides a defector.

He's loud and large and a subpar cook. He's the type of guy to crack a joke at the inappropriate time but roll his eyes when someone else does the same thing a minute later. He's the intersection where a skeptic and a romantic met, fell in love, and married despite their suspicions. He's the goof that will let a 5 year old beat him at arm wrestling, the one who'll gladly step in between any guy and the girl he's clearly making uncomfortable. A bad dancer and a worse singer. The textbook definition of a hopeful realist. He's a mess, most days. If you ask his brother then he's a hippy. If you asked his surrogate dad then he's a sweet kid. If you asked his father then he's a bit of a disappointment.

But no matter what John would have said, he is not a defector.

Which is why he hasn't gone a day since the goodbye without typing out Castiel's number. The world is a weird enough place that a text or a call can be a small thing on one end and everything on the other. He's been there. He's been the guy who went for months without ever waking up to a notification on his cell, who's e-mail was so chocked full of junk mail and nothing else that he eventually deleted the password from his memory bank. He's been alone and felt small while fearing he was taking up too much valuable space.

That isn't going to be Cas.

He doesn't tell him to come back, not in words. He answers Cas' every day how-to-function questions. He recommends cheap places to eat, helps him fill out job applications, and calms the wave of panic when Castiel convinces himself that heartburn and heart attacks are the same thing. He walks him through the basics of paying a bill, picking out good but affordable coffee, and convinces him that the showing of Star Trek IV at the local discount theater is absolutely worth the $5. But he doesn't tell him to come home.

He just makes sure he knows there's a home to come back to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Not many have called Dean a coward. Many, however, have called him variations of brave. He doesn't necessarily agree with the latter. He's got the knowledge, the experience to deal with the vamps and ghouls and shifters. Facing them is more common sense than an act of courage. Someone has to do it, Dean just has the misfortune of being the most qualified in just about any room you put him in.

A hero is someone who manages not to hesitate when they have absolutely no idea what the consequences may be. Someone who is terrified and doesn't let that fear tap the breaks. A knight in shining armor would not be afraid of the words I and Love and You.

Dean hears Sam on the phone sometimes, watches him tap out messages on his cell at every diner they stop at. He knows who's on the receiving end and that he's failing all three of them. That one ex-angel is only getting half as many beeps on his phone as he should and that Sam is working overtime to make sure no one notices but they do, Cas does.

Dean wonders just how long Sam has known about him, wonders if it's a conversation they're supposed to be having and where the starting line for that would be. Sam knows, he does. He knows Dean holds his breath as he walks by the door to Cas' room - still cracked open just a hair the way it was left. He's seen him pointedly go out of his way to use any cup but the blue mug with a daisy on it because that ones Cas' and he isn't here but he isn't gone either. He's heard the pause before Dean can get out his name, the single syllable needing a true moment of determination before forming on his tongue. Sam _knows_ and Dean's perfectly fine with that because every conversation they don't need to have about this is a couple feet Dean can subtract from the cliff he's going to throw himself off of.

So he picks another race to run today.

"Do you think angels can be gay?" He asks over breakfast and freaking tea.

Sam stills for a split second. A fraction of one before he resets. "Why not? I mean, Anna had... was sexual. I'd assume the romantic half of it would come more naturally to them if anything."

"Yeah but gay, Sam. Bible: Fire and Brimstone? 'If you love hell then give sodomy a try'? I know that he's... they aren't exactly men and women but still. Do you think maybe they're just not wired that way? Not to be, you know?"

Sam's voice settles to something strong and gentle at the same time. "I think Cas is a lot of things he wasn't wired to be."

There's four lungs breathing, tea steaming, forks held hovering over eggs that Dean can't seem to stop staring at.

 Sam sighs louder than he's been all night, fingers letting metal smash down on his plate in a tranquility ending clatter. "For fuck's sake Dean, just call him," he huffs out faster than his patience evaporates.

Dean let's Sam snatch all the bacon off his plate and thanks all the gods for whiny younger brothers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Despite never seeing it lit up on the screen Cas knows that Dean's number was programmed into his phone before it was ever placed in his palm. Every buzz and chime and ring has held the possibility of Dean's name blaring, back-lit in bold text, though they've never actually yielded it.

Until now.

His thumb practically jumps away from the screen, away from equally horrible options of Accept and Decline. Sam is dead or dying. A decent chunk of the world must currently be on fire or maybe Dean himself is. What he is supposed to do about that? He's hours away at least with no automobile, no wings and with only bare basic understanding of how long distance bus systems work. Maybe he's being "butt dialed"? Or maybe he's actually... needed, which is daunting. He's seriously contemplating Accept as the screen flashes to Missed Call.

He can fix that. He redials four times before he gets anything other than a busy tone.

One ring and the start of another before, "Cas? Hey, hey man. I, uh, just left you a voice mail."

"Is everything okay? Are you alright?" He tries to sound okay himself, like his heart isn't racing. Like the fact that Dean simply calling him warrants this type of panic is alright by him.

"Nothing's wrong. I just... wanted to check up on you." It's not a judgment, it's a simple statement of fact and he hates it.

"Check up on me?" He's relieved and disappointed and furious. "It's been 5 months." 148 days and the call that finally comes is an afterthought. If he's learned anything from the Winchesters it's that this burning emotion needs to be smothered down with humor. "Sam already explained the effects of putting metal in the microwave. I'm not a child-"

"Come home, Cas." It's not a statement, it's a plea and he hates it worse.

"There are things, Dean. Reasons I left." He can't be a burden, not again. Not after being what he was, powerful and capable. He fell but he didn't lose that. He's a millennia old and breathing to stay alive for the first time but he won't be a house pet. He has a life now, a real human life, and it needs to be his. He won't spend it as a sympathy guest that never leaves, bound to obligated hosts because he needs a 24-hour guide.

"I know. I do. I'm not saying drop everything tomorrow and head back east. Forget dropping it at all. I could drive out. Sam could come, family reunion. We'll take you out to eat. We could find a minute to teach you to drive even. Or we could just do the whole apartment warming thing. Bring over a stack of bad movies and way too much food and beer." It's one of the longer string of words Cas has ever heard him put together and it's a hard road to map out. With Dean there's always a meaning at the center of things, a feeling just left of the obvious. "Whatever you're doing, it doesn't have to be a one man show."

"I can't just pack up and come back, Dean." He means it. He means to mean it. He has a life now, he does. Dean's been everything for so long, there has to be something else.

"Home is family, Cas. The bunker's storage. It's a bed and some well built walls. You're family, man. If you can't come here, we'll come to you."

"Dean-"

"You know I love you, alright? We haven't been talking about this for 6 freaking years but we maybe we should have. You deserve to know that. I don't need Sam's happily ever after, I don't even need you to acknowledge it. Fuck, I almost hope you don't say it back because then it'll be my turn to say something and I have absolutely no idea what that will be. So just... I do, okay? And wherever you call home is fine. It is. I want to come home."

Breathing, it's starting to become subconscious. That section of brain that blinks and swallows without constantly having to remind it has started the slow process of taking over the basics of keeping him alive. In and Out and In, it's out of his hands and that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Easier doesn't have to be cause for alarm. In and Out and In, without a thought. The way it should be. Living.

"Cas? Shit Cas, I'm seriously fine if you don't. I mean it, I'm not looking for promises here. I-"

"I'll text you the address."

Pause. Hope. A breath. "Yeah?"

"Come home, Dean."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That should be if, folks! Thanks again for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Un'beta'd so the many mistakes in the few short words are all mine.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
